#like they are all so individually talented

[peachhoneii]

"You are a dumber, sweatier version of him."

Ford and Stan conformed to society's expectations of twins and their individual pursuits throughout their entire lives. Ford is the talented, gifted academic. We know he can play piano extremely well. His abilities aren't restricted to the sciences obviously. In contrast, Stan is demoted as the less intelligent, less gifted twin. In many cases, especially in his father's treatment of him, he's perceived as the dumb twin.

After listening the GF commentary podcast and rewatching the show, we've all come to the general consensus that Stan isn't dumb. Stan can't be dumb. He lacks Ford's academic gifts but is able to recreate the portal using advanced sciences, maths, and etc. This man who didn't finish high school at best is able to understand and recreate the concepts his brother included in his journal.

The more I read and rewatch I can only assume Stan has some kind of learning disability that went undiagnosed. Let's not forget, Stan and Ford were likely born in the 1950s. There were not many resources for children living with dyslexia or adhd or add or any person living outside the "norm." Or he was lazy, felt defeated in trying to make good grades especially after what his dad when he got an F-.

They can never make me like you, Filbrick Elmer Pines. If he has no haters, then I'm dead.

While I don't want to say Ford treated Stan like he was dumb, he treated Stan as if he was less intelligent than him. Stan used to cheat off of his tests in school. We saw that. This behavior is another parallel/contrast between Mabel and Dipper. It highlights how close they are and how well they understand each other.

In Journal 3 Dipper says, "Can be a real friend when she's not doing one of her bits. She's smarter than people give her credit for, and often acts the way she does just to drive me insane."

This isn't to imply their dynamic is perfect. It isn't perfect. There are bumps and a few potholes in the roads, but Dipper always treats Mabel as an intelligent person, knows she sleeps on her own gifts so she can do her bits. The difference between Ford and Stan is that I don't think Ford wanted to accept Stan's gifts and would only begrudgingly internally.

The show doesn't highlight Mabel being treated as the dumb twin. She's treated as the silly twin with more emotional intelligence than Dipper. She can be selfish, but she's also considered more mature than Dipper. Hirsch definitely sees her as more mature in a way to Dipper.

The parallels are simply so beautiful to me. I appreciate how they're not 1:1 parallels, y'know. They can fit in each various slots but serve similar roles for each other.

[flightyalrighty]

I think part of the reason my gut is like "No, Tails can't be dead! Pfft! You're silly!" is that NOT ONLY would it be Sonic's (his brother's) fault, NOT ONLY is he just a kid, but also... Tails is just such a gem.

He's so smart, talented, and a hard-working individual. In most conflicts, Tails is a source of comfort for everyone else, rationalizing the chaos and giving them solutions to work towards. Like, who is Sonic supposed to turn to not only as a brother, but as someone who can help him figure out what's wrong before it's too late? Sonic relies on Tails so much and this Is just... aaaAAAAA-

I've been in such denial since I first saw the fur on Sonic's body and I want to say it's just brilliant to hang this in the air in front of us because of how important of a character Tails is in general. It's emotionally terrible + makes the threat in this story seem more unobtainable (I hope that makes sense) + I love it but I'm also crying. I'm going to keep coping forever ;.;

Tails is such an important character in the franchise, not just on a strategic "He's smart enough to Solve The Problem" level but on an emotional level as well, as you've stated.

He also wasn't done growing, and had so much he could've still done. So much he still should have been able to experience. That was a child. An eight-year-old boy. A hero, yes, but young, and mortal like the rest of us.

And to be cut down by his own brother. Someone he trusted, trusted more than anyone else.

What do you suppose those last moments were like for him? How do you think it all felt?

Was he scared?

Was he sad?

If his life flashed before his eyes in that single second before he was taken from the world, half of that life would've been filled with Sonic's smiling face.

[achillesleftheel]

I CANT DECIDE WHO MY FAVOURITE MEMBER OF BOYGENIUS IS OK???

WHAT IF IT'S ALL OF THEM ALL AT ONCE????

[eliounora]

anybody else frustated with this constant need of recognition. like I don't enjoy things because I feel like nobody will notice it or recognise me for it. and as a result I feel like I am mediocre at everything and disappointment is my permanent mode of being

[natasha-in-space]

hi:) um can i ask a slightly angst fic where the reader don't have a job because of her social anxiety and so she's v embarrassed when talking with people and when she joins RFA even more so cuz they're all successful and busy. Can you make it slight Seven/MC? I hope that's okay 🙃

"You feeling okay?"

You jolted, feeling like your heart was just about to jump straight out of your chest with how hard it was pounding against your ribcage. Really, it was silly of you to react like that. The party venue was full of attractive people dressed in fancy evening attire: dancing, laughing, drinking, and networking. As a party coordinator, it was a given for someone to eventually start up a conversation with you. And yet... No matter how hard your brain tried to rationalize every little thing around you, it never truly helped.

You didn't belong here. All of these people... Hell, even the rest of the RFA! They held themselves up with such confidence, they talked with such grace and they didn't have to worry about their standing at all. And, who were you? Just an anxious mess who couldn't even function properly in a completely normal social interaction. What were you even doing here-?

You swiftly turned around, meeting a pair of golden eyes staring right at you behind his signature glasses. Seven... Speaking of, you didn't even see him since the party started. Did he notice how pale your face has gotten? How tightly your fingers gripped the champagne glass you didn't drink from even once ever since you first took it from the tray to busy your trembling hands with something? How your breathing was too shallow and quick to satisfy your desperate need for fresh air in your lungs? You hoped not.

Say something-!

"I- Uh-" You barely managed to choke out, your throat closing in before you could utter a single word, your mind feeling like it was too overwhelmed and underwhelmed at the same time. There were too many eyes, too many people, too many voices. It was too bright, too loud, too crowded. Your clothes were too tight, the fabric was too itchy, and your skin was too clammy. It was all... too much.

"I- I'm fine."

You were obviously not fine.

Seven's brows furrowed, though you barely registered it through the panicked fog that took over all of your senses. And, even if you did notice it, you'd probably think that he assumed you were weird and off-putting or something. That's what you would have thought of yourself in his shoes, anyway. You knew you were failing this, and failing this miserably... You knew you needed to get out of here, you knew you needed some peace and quiet to ground yourself, and yet-

And yet, you were too damn frozen to do anything. Your body and mind were begging you for an escape, but they didn't let you do anything to achieve that escape. What kind of sick joke is that?

"...C'mon." You didn't even detect Seven's voice in your ears. You just gasped as you felt someone gently nudge your arm and start leading you away. So, you stumbled along, your breathing shallow and your legs tripping over themselves as you were being led down the dimly lit corridor somewhere you couldn't see. He was quiet as you two walked alongside each other, his grip on your arm tightening from time to time to keep you steady, making occasional small pauses for you to regain your footing.

You wouldn't notice any of these small details until much, much later, once your mind had cleared up again.

Finally, you briefly heard the sound of a door opening, before a rush of fresh air hit you right in the face, almost making you choke on it from the pure abruptness of it. You didn't even notice how stuffy it was on the inside until you got a taste of what it was like on the outside. Two warm hands lightly pushed you down, and you let them, feeling yourself being seated onto a small wooden bench. It felt so good to no longer have to stand and keep your weight up. You let your head lean back as you closed your eyes and let yourself finally breathe.

God, each breath of fresh night air felt like true paradise right now.

A few minutes passed by until you felt yourself slowly coming back to earth, more or less. You still felt anxious and incredibly tired, your heart racing on the inside of your chest. But, at least you could move again, albeit shakily. You could speak. You could see. You could breathe.

Speaking of... You quickly turned your attention to a fellow redheaded RFA member that was sitting beside you, his gaze turned upwards towards the night sky.

"...Seven?" You decided to say something, your voice weak and raspy.

He turned his attention back towards you, a warm smile gracing his features. It was strange. You knew Seven wasn't all jokes and laughter, but you also weren't expecting him to be so... caring once you finally met him face-to-face. It made your heart race for a different reason from before.

"Are you feeling better now? I can bring you some water if you want." He replied, holding your nervous gaze.

Why are you so nice to me...? You wanted to ask, as you hang your head low, starting to anxiously fiddle with the ends of your outfit. Instead, you just shook your head. "A-A bit later. I'm... Uh..."

"You're not ready to go back out there. I get it." He finished your train of thought for you, returning his gaze toward the sky. It made you breathe a small sigh of relief, grateful to be free of any kind of attention right now.

Wait... Did he do it on purpose-?

"I... I'm sorry." You mumbled, biting onto your lower lip. "I should be there right now, talking with our guests and making sure the party is a success... And yet, here I am. Some kind of party coordinator I am."

Your words were laced with bitterness and frustration, centered around nobody but yourself. All you wanted was to be... normal. To stop feeling like every single person in the room hated your guts for simply existing. To be able to function properly. Why was it so goddamn hard!?

Seven sighed, glancing at you briefly before looking away once again. He seemed to be thinking about what to say to you. You never thought you'd see him not knowing how to reply to something. He was always so energetic and all over the place in the chatrooms or on the calls with you... But, this side of him was... new.

You appreciated seeing it.

"It's... terrifying to try and act tough when you feel like there is danger waiting on every turn. You have to pretend that everything's going great when all you really want to do is to run and hide yourself away somewhere nobody could ever find you." He started slowly, carefully. Almost like he was thinking over every single word he spoke, cautious not to say too much. You wondered what it was that he was avoiding so meticulously. "I saw that look in your eyes, and I knew what you were feeling on the inside. It's a look I... Well, let's just say, it's not something unfamiliar to me."

You were surprised to hear that. Seven? Being familiar with such anxiety? The same Seven who would laugh the loudest out of everyone in the group, or make a fool of himself with a confident grin on his face? You found it hard to believe.

He continued his line of thought before you could question it, though.

"Listen... I know you feel like you don't belong. And, I mean... I can understand that." He chuckled, shaking his head a little. "Practically everyone in our group is impressive in one way or another. Some, in ways a normal person couldn't even imagine. It would be pretty overwhelming to anybody to get thrown into your position."

You furrowed your brows, your fingers stopping their fiddling as you got too focused on your own thoughts. "A normal person wouldn't freeze up at a party that they themselves are supposed to be responsible for. Or fail at keeping a job for any longer than a month without completely breaking down."

"None of this could be possible without you joining the RFA, Y/N." Seven replied, now looking straight at you, his expression oddly serious. He just continued to surprise you the more time you spent together. "I know more about you than I should. I'm not... proud of it, but the least I can do is use this knowledge to help you. I know you struggle with some things. And yes, you did get too overwhelmed there. But, everything's okay now. The party is a success. Thanks to you. Thanks for your efforts. Nothing is ruined. The guests are happy, and we raised a lot of money that will be used for a good cause to those who are in need. Rika's legacy continues. None of this could be possible without you. Don't belittle yourself for this."

You just stared at him, not knowing what to say. Not knowing what you could say. You could feel tears welling up in the corners of your eyes as you swallowed the lump forming in the middle of your throat. "But... But I-"

"You're a member of the RFA, Y/N. Whatever struggles you're going through... We're all going to be there for you when you need it. In fact, I'm sure everyone is very worried about you right now." He gave you a small reassuring smile, patting you on the shoulder. "Don't be afraid to rely on us. Just like everyone relied on you. We're here for you. And... I'm here for you, too."

You would hold onto those words. Just like you found yourself holding onto his arm for the rest of the night, finding his warm presence warming and reassuring.

You weren't alone in this. And, even though you had no idea what you were doing, you knew you had people who would always be there to catch you when you fell.

[swordmaid]

lolth-sworn society beauty standards must be so crazy and strict tho…. like if the red eyes are a gift from lolth and if not every drow are born with the red eyes I just imagine you’d get ostracised if you’re born with white eyes or purple, like ur not wanted by lolth from birth so ur inherently worthless. in the same vein if you also don’t have white hair then you’re treated as an Other bc you don’t look like everyone else. and I imagine that lolth is THE very definition of their beauty standard so they aspire to look like her, and all the beauty trends and ideals are influenced from her or from her spiders and if there’s anything any feature about yourself that deviates from lolth’s standards then you’re considered as ugly and grotesque.

likewise, I’d imagine the upkeep of beauty is a sort of status symbol because if you manage to keep up with the elaborate outfits and hairstyles without worrying someone is gonna kill you with it it means that you have the luxury to be comfortable. and also the means to afford such things in the first place bc resources in the underdark are pretty limited and gems from the surface needs to be imported and id imagine they’d be more expensive bc it’s already so risky going down the underdark let alone doing trade in menzoberranzan.

like unsure if this an actual thing too but I like the hc so it’s real to Me! But I like the idea that hair is essentially a status symbol towards the drows, and they favour elaborate braids and updos that resembles a spider’s web and cocoon, and a way to punish and shame someone is to cut off their long hair. like imagine if the matriarchs wore gigantic elaborate braided hair with all these head pieces and designs to show off the status of their house and the power they themselves have, and the lesser houses’ braids are much more smaller in comparison. she would have the means to do her hair like that daily because she has designated servants and slaves attending to her needs, and she has the money to afford all sorts of accessories. and the same goes for their clothes too, since silk is a favourite amongst the drows and it’s a pretty difficult fabric to work with. I’d also imagine lace being a highly sought out fabric among them since it’s so delicate and flimsy, and it could easily snag. but the fact that you’re able to wear something fragile as lace is a power play in itself since it’s a show off your own strength and power … kind of like a taunt ?

anyway, this isn’t really going anywhere I’m just typing aloud but I’d imagine in a society where almost everyone’s colouring is similar to each other, where beauty is one of the most infamous traits they’re known to have, and where they claim that red eyes is a gift from the goddess they’re all expect to covet and worship id imagine the beauty standards there are so crazy and toxic lol

[viktoriakomova]

The only thing I wish were different is that OU would be here and have their vault apocalypse today instead of in the semifinals. And that way nobody could ever cheapen this.

[narwhalandchill]

OH MISHAS OFFICIAL INTRODUCTION IS OUT. Anyway. sound familiar?

let us thank this brave soldier for even the mere crumbs he has brought us humble narwhal truthers in these trying times 🫡🫡 i rest my case

[arosebyan0thername]

Life is so hard for me as a queer person who is not interested in ch*ppell r*an for just very normal not deranged reasons, because if people ask and I say "no I don't really like her" then I am running the very high risk of being perceived as either a lesbian hater or one of those online freaks who thinks she "doesn't deserve fame" because she doesn't want literal stalkers at her door, but if I say yes then I will have to sit through her entire discography at every function 😮‍💨

[castielsprostate]

uhm im AUOURGH

[radiofreeilium]

Crowd sourcing plot points in my new wip

[bootyful-seventeen]

but anyway on a more posative note what are y'all up to nowadays

[foodlesoodlesdoodles]

Don’t understand how bitches can bud hateful when you can have milk and sugar with your strawberries and look out the window to a beautiful dawn. Such beautiful colors in the sky I am blessed to see today, I am never sure if I will be here the next minute. I love to just close my eyes and feel the wind and look up to the sky, cloudy or sunny, grey as a dead man’s skin or as blue as a baby’s iris— it is all the same and beautiful in its own way I think. I may not like life as a machine and the social norms that come along but I like life in the primal way it’s presented. Many have felt the same wind as I and I think that’s beautiful in its own way. I do not know what the silly things inside me are nor do I know the intricacies of human life and behavior but all I know is the little things inside me are happy to see the sky. Starry or Sunny I love it so much. I wish I could be the person I am looking up at the sky all the time because then I’d be better I think.

I love it here but I also hate to go through it, but that’s just duality. I just love waking up and the first thing I see is the sky. It’s always there for me. Always.

[sixzeroes]

another rant bc it’s still 5am and i still hate reddit. why did i stay up all night reading reddit posts? idk, they’re kinda interesting ngl. ok thank u i’ll sleep now

[theprincessaurora]

I’m reading an article about the Disney Princess Toddler line, and evidently, Glen Keane was the one who designed Aurora’s baby doll! One of the influences was some of the original merchandise from the toy company Gong Bell, which manufactured a toy doll cradle made from particle board and paper appliques, which featured artwork of an adorable, wide-eyed child version of Aurora surrounded by forest animals, as did a Gong Bell puzzle. 

That young Aurora, who was originally meant to appear in the film, also showed up in a comic book series published by Gold Key. But the kicker? Glen agreed to design her, instead of Cinderella (who Mark Henn took over due to his friendship with Eric Larson), because of his connection with Aurora’s designer and animator.

"But given that I knew Marc Davis- the Disney Legend that had originally created Princess Aurora- and I knew the way that he drew...well, I thought that I could handle translating that character into a toddler. Take the stylization of her hair that Marc had come up with for this character and then make that work for a doll.”

[mortalityplays]

This is a dangerous sentiment for me to express, as an editor who spends most of my working life telling writers to knock it off with the 45-word sentences and the adverbs and tortured metaphors, but I do think we're living through a period of weird pragmatic puritanism in mainstream literary taste.

e.g. I keep seeing people talk about 'purple prose' when they actually mean 'the writer uses vivid and/or metaphorical descriptive language'. I've seen people who present themselves as educators offer some of the best genre writing in western canon as examples of 'purple prose' because it engages strategically in prose-poetry to evoke mood and I guess that's sheer decadence when you could instead say "it was dark and scary outside". But that's not what purple prose means. Purple means the construction of the prose itself gets in the way of conveying meaning. mid-00s horse RPers know what I'm talking about. Cerulean orbs flash'd fire as they turn'd 'pon rollforth land, yonder horizonways. <= if I had to read this when I was 12, you don't get to call Ray Bradbury's prose 'purple'.

I griped on here recently about the prepossession with fictional characters in fictional narratives behaving 'rationally' and 'realistically' as if the sole purpose of a made-up story is to convince you it could have happened. No wonder the epistolary form is having a tumblr renaissance. One million billion arguments and thought experiments about The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas that almost all evade the point of the story: that you can't wriggle out of it. The narrator is telling you how it was, is and will be, and you must confront the dissonances it evokes and digest your discomfort. 'Realistic' begins on the author's terms, that's what gives them the power to reach into your brain and fiddle about until sparks happen. You kind of have to trust the process a little bit.

This ultra-orthodox attitude to writing shares a lot of common ground with the tight, tight commodification of art in online spaces. And I mean commodification in the truest sense - the reconstruction of the thing to maximise its capacity to interface with markets. Form and function are overwhelmingly privileged over cloudy ideas like meaning, intent and possibility, because you can apply a sliding value scale to the material aspects of a work. But you can't charge extra for 'more challenging conceptual response to the milieu' in a commission drive. So that shit becomes vestigial. It isn't valued, it isn't taught, so eventually it isn't sought out. At best it's mystified as part of a given writer/artist's 'talent', but either way it grows incumbent on the individual to care enough about that kind of skill to cultivate it.

And it's risky, because unmeasurables come with the possibility of rejection or failure. Drop in too many allegorical descriptions of the rose garden and someone will decide your prose is 'purple' and unserious. A lot of online audiences seem to be terrified of being considered pretentious in their tastes. That creates a real unwillingness to step out into discursive spaces where you 🫵 are expected to develop and explore a personal relationship with each element of a work. No guard rails, no right answers. Word of god is shit to us out here. But fear of getting that kind of analysis wrong makes people hove to work that slavishly explains itself on every page. And I'm left wondering, what's the point of art that leads every single participant to the same conclusion? See Spot run. Run, Spot, run. Down the rollforth land, yonder horizonways. I just want to read more weird stuff.